


Sweetness at the end of the day

by heartequals (savvygambols)



Series: Cape Breton Lullabies [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Cozy Mysteries, Kid Fic, M/M, small town, twee af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvygambols/pseuds/heartequals
Summary: Summer fell upon Sweetness like a weighted blanket.Precious things stolen around town, his kid’s 5th birthday, a custody battle with his ex-girlfriend, and Geno shirtless. Sid’s having a really stressful summer.





	Sweetness at the end of the day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hatoyona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatoyona/gifts).



> I promised hatoyona 20k of Pens kidfic if the Pens lost in the 2018 playoffs, which I wasn’t really expecting BUT GUESS WHO LOST ROUND 2, BABY!! Love you, bro! Sorry this took me so long! Thanks for beta-reading and ideating your own consolation prize!
> 
> If Sloan seems preposterously precocious, it is because I was modelling them off of the cozy mystery tradition of Young People Or Animals Who Are More Clever Than They Have A Right To Be. There is actually a real mystery series called “Sloan and Crosby” by Catherine Aird, which was literally nominally the inspiration for this series - I saw the series title as I was weeding one of the books at work and it made me laugh and I immediately sent hatoyona a dozen texts about it. I don’t know if it is a cozy mystery series. The title of this fic is “reworked” from cozy mystery novel _The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie_ by Alan Bradley, which I read half of as an ebook and then lost my ereader so I can only really recommend the first half! Let me know how the rest of the series is.
> 
> I do not know anything about Canada and Cape Breton specifically except for what I read in a couple of wikipedia articles, so please forgive any over-indulgent fabrications and embellishments.
> 
> This is the first part of a four part fic so there is some ~foreshadowing and cliff-hangers; this fic will be finished, eventually, because otherwise hatoyona will yell at me.

Summer fell upon Sweetness like a weighted blanket, which is to say, the only two truly brain-meltingly hot days of the year landed right before Sloan’s birthday. Sid was wearing a polo shirt and shorts and he was suffering. He stepped out onto the front porch and nearly died. 

Horatio lay on his back with all four of his legs sticking up in a bright patch of sunlight on the corner of the porch. If he weren’t snoring so loudly, Sid would have to check that the dog hadn’t finally died. Sid couldn’t figure out how Horatio could sleep in the sunshine, but Horatio was about a hundred years old in both body and spirit and all he did was sleep. A little oppressive heat that frankly made it hard for Sid to breathe wasn’t going to stop Horatio from snoring like a train engine.

Sid crossed the road to Geno’s house. He knocked on the door and tried to feel confident. It was hard because it was so hot.

“Sid,” said Geno, opening the door. “Come in! It’s too hot.”

Sid eyed him. Geno had flour on his cheek. “Are you baking?” he said suspiciously.

“Yes, but don’t worry, I’m not turn on the oven until tonight,” Geno grabbed Sid’s arm and pulled him inside. “Come, is cooler in here.”

It was cooler inside Geno’s house, blessedly so. Sid had no idea what Geno did or where he got his money or how he ended up in the only house in the village with air conditioning or like, actually anything about Geno at all, but honestly, he was grateful for it in the rare summer days that it was hot enough to actually warrant air conditioning. He didn’t need it usually, no one did.

Geno dragged him into the kitchen, hand curled around Sid’s wrist. Sid marvelled at how big Geno’s hand was on him and shivered.

Geno shoved Sid in a chair and grabbed two beers from refrigerator, opening them with a bottle opener drilled into the side of the counter where any unsuspecting child could take an eye out if they weren’t paying attention.

“What, Sid?” Geno asked. He put a beer in front of Sid and sat down across from him. “Why you leave the house? You hate to leave the house when it’s hot.”

“Why are you baking a cake?” Sid asked. He pushed aside a giant canister of sugar so he could see Geno better and it nearly toppled over. Geno frowned at him as he caught it and righted it.

“For Sloan,” Geno said. “Did you forget it’s their birthday tomorrow?”

“No! God, no.” Sid took a sip of his beer. “You’re baking a birthday cake for Sloan? That’s really nice of you.”

“I promise them I do it, so I’m do it,” said Geno. “Sid, why are you here?”

Sid turned his bottle from side to side. “Look,” he said finally. “Feel free to say no.”

“What, Sid,” said Geno impatiently.

“I want to build Sloan a treehouse,” said Sid in a rush. “I don’t know if they’d ever use it, they probably won’t, but I think it would nice. Kind of give them a normal childhood, right? Or as normal as they’ll ever get. They don’t do enough kid stuff, you know? I want them to at least have the option. Could you--I mean, do you want to help me? I can do it alone, but I thought -- well, they love you so much. It’d be really meaningful if you helped build it. They probably wouldn’t care as much if it was just me.”

Geno smiled and it was like the sun coming out on Sid’s heart. He worried at the edge of the label on the bottle, waiting for Geno to say something.

“I’m love to do that with you,” said Geno happily, easily.

“Great,” said Sid, relieved.

“Not today though,” said Geno. “I’m busy.”

“Oh, hell no,” said Sid. “I can’t even breathe and you think I can go up a tree?”

Geno laughed at that and took a long drink of his beer. Sid mirrored him, just to have something to do with his hands and his mouth.

“I have one problem,” said Geno.

“Right,” said Sid. “That’s fine.”

“Sloan love it if you built it on your own,” said Geno. “I’m help you but Sloan love it even if it’s just you.”

“I’d rather do it with you,” said Sid and then immediately drank some beer because that was easier than looking at Geno.

“I know,” said Geno with a smirk. “We have fun together.”

Sid ripped the label off the bottle in one smooth motion and then shotgunned the rest of his beer. Geno laughed at him.

 

;;

 

Sloan was waiting for Sid when he made it back to their house five minutes later, perched on a stool in the kitchen. “Dad,” they said, with all the pitchy bossiness that almost-five-years-old afforded them, “Did you go to Geno’s house without me?”

“I had to ask him something,” said Sid. He kissed the top of their head as he walked into the kitchen. “It’s a surprise.”

“What’s a surprise?” demanded Sloan.

“The word or the actual--”

“I know what surprise means!” said Sloan.

“I can’t tell you the surprise,” said Sid. “Where’s your water bottle? You should be hydrating.”

“I put it in the fridge to make it cold,” said Sloan.

“Good,” said Sid. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out their now-cool water bottle. “Drink.”

Sloan took the water bottle from him. It was the size of their head and purple. When they uncapped it and attempted to drink, it spilled on their shirt, as per usual. They continued drinking without pausing. Sid loved his kid so much.

“Is Geno making my cake?” Sloan asked, when they came up for air.

“Maybe,” said Sid. He drank from his own water bottle.

“What kind of cake is it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Sid.

“Well, what did you talk about, if it wasn’t my cake?”

“It’s a surprise,” said Sid. “What do you want for dinner?”

Sloan considered this carefully for a long moment. “A milkshake,” they said finally.

Sid weighed the dangers of capitulating to dessert for dinner versus the terrible weather versus how it was Sloan’s birthday tomorrow. He might as well start spoiling them early. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go to Balsam’s.” The best milkshakes in town, Sloan’s favorite milkshakes in town, and also the only restaurant in town. Sid loved Sweetness, however, rural Cape Breton did not offer a lot in the way of variety. But Balsam did make a good milkshake.

He got his sunglasses, Sloan got their hat, and both of them checked on Horatio, who had stopped snoring but was still lying on his back on the porch. “I think he’s alive,” said Sid, trying for confident because the alternative was having to bury a 230 pound St. Bernard the day before his kid’s birthday.

Sloan leaned over and blew on Horatio’s face. Horatio sneezed all over Sloan without opening an eye.

“He’s alive,” they said cheerfully. Sid pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped dog spit off Sloan’s face. “Come on, Sloan.”

Sloan took his hand. The rule that they weren’t allowed to walk in the road if not physically attached to an adult, preferably Sid, was one of the few that stuck. Sid suspected it was because it was one of the few times when Sloan would allow themself to hold hands with Sid and not out of any actual desire to adhere to his rules. Whatever it was, he’d take it. The alternative was having his kid get run over by a truck.

They walked down the street to town, Sloan rattling off all the details in the latest mystery in town. Geno told them that someone had broken into Mrs. Dogwood’s consignment shop that morning and stolen all the jewelry. Most of it was junk but some of it was quite valuable. Mrs. Dogwood was very upset about it, understandably so, Sloan assured their father. Sidney listened carefully and tried to make sense of the clues Sloan had found, of which there were few. The burglar had left little trace of themselves; they’d broken the lock on the backdoor and entered and exited there. Mrs. Dogwood had no security cameras. The burglar had left only a couple of strands of long blonde hair behind, caught in the door jam. But half teenagers in Sweetness were some version of blonde, natural or artificial, and the local police didn’t feel like doing a DNA test.

“They said it wouldn’t prove anything,” said Sloan indignantly, as they walked through the park in the main square towards Balsam’s. “And they said that a couple of fake trinkets weren’t worth investigating! But Dad! Mrs. Dogwood knows for certain that the diamonds were real! She told me!”

Sid pushed open the door of Balsam’s and let them in first. Sloan ran to the counter and made their best attempt at jumping up on a stool, with little success. They might be almost-five but they were still very small. Sid lifted them up onto the stool and sat down next to them.

Balsam slid in front of them, towel over one shoulder. “Hey little one,” he said cheerfully. “What can I get for you?”

“Hello Mr. Poplar,” said Sloan, folding their hands in front of them on the counter. “I would like a milkshake please.”

“Sure thing,” said Balsam. “Vanilla?”

“Obviously,” said Sloan.

“Sloan, don’t be rude,” Sid chided.

“I’m sorry,” said Sloan to Balsam. “Yes, vanilla, please. Dad would like one too.”

“Coming right up,” said Balsam with a wink. He moved off. Sid tugged on Sloan’s braid. “You’re doing well,” he said.

“I’m trying,” Sloan said. “Hey, if I bring a milkshake to Geno, will he tell me what kind of cake he’s making?”

Sid knew Geno generally had strength of character, but he also knew Geno would fold like a house of cheap cards if a cute kid offered him a milkshake. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t think you should tempt him though.”

“I just want to know,” Sloan whined. 

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” said Sid.

“Milkshakes,” said Balsam, setting two glasses in front of him and Sloan. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“It’s my birthday,” Sloan informed him. “I’m turning 5.”

“Already?” said Balsam. “Good lord, I remember when you came to Sweetness. All of about, what, two?”

“18 months,” said Sloan. “It was winter.”

“Oh, I remember now,” said Balsam with a broad smile. “Your porch collapsed under the snow and nearly killed the dog.”

“I don’t remember that,” said Sloan, frowning.

“You were one, I don’t think you remember much of anything from that age,” said Sid. “Would you eat a sandwich if I ordered one for you?”

Sloan considered this. “Probably,” they said. “But I want my milkshake first.”

Balsam grabbed a menu and handed it to Sid. Sloan started in on their milkshake.

The bells above the door chimed as someone stepped inside. More interested in getting his kid to eat, Sid didn't turn around until the person said, right behind him, “Sidney Crosby!”

Sid dropped the menu in surprise and turned around. “Ash?” he said.

Sloan whipped around, nearly upending their milkshake. They pinned Ash with a glare. “You!”

Ash swept her long blond hair over one shoulder and smiled at them. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Well, now,” said Balsam. “Who is this?”

“My ex-girlfriend,” said Sid. “And the mother of my child.”

“She is not my mother,” said Sloan. “The term mother suggests some kind of exchange of love and affection, but we don't have one.”

“Sloan--” Sid began.

“Darling--”

Sloan turned around and went back to their milkshake. Balsam looked on with interest.

Sid got up to hug Ash, mainly because he was trying to model good behavior for his kid. Ash hugged him tight. She smelled like lavender and for one painful moment, Sid’s heart ached. He stepped back.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Can't a mother drop in as a surprise for her child's birthday?”

“You're not my mother and this is a bad surprise,” said Sloan without turning around.

Sid agreed entirely and didn't make Sloan apologize. “You should have called. Sloan doesn't like surprises.”

“I like surprises,” said Sloan. “But I like a good surprise, like when Geno got a bowtie for Horatio.”

“My god, Horatio is still alive?” said Ash. “I'd love to see him.”

“Nope,” said Sloan.

Sid said, “Balsam, can you keep an eye on Sloan for a minute? Ash, let's go outside.”

They stepped out into the oppressive summer heat. The square was empty; it was too hot outside to do anything more than move from one building to another. Ash looked comfortable, but she was from Toronto and wearing a floral romper.

“Why are you really here?” Sid asked her.

“I want joint custody,” said Ash. “I feel like I’m missing my chance to see my baby grow up.”

Sid raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t want to see them grow up.”

“I never said that!”

“You literally said ‘I don’t want this child’,” said Sid. He could recite the whole argument by heart; it was the worst day of his life and he’d never been able to forget it. “You said you didn’t want them and you said you didn’t want me. What’s changed?”

“I’ve changed,” said Ash. “I’ve grown up. It’s been almost four years. I miss you and I miss my baby.”

“We’re not getting back together,” said Sid shortly.

“I know. But you’re the father of my child and I miss us being parents together. I miss being a parent. And with Sloan starting kindergarten, I thought it would be nice if they spent summers with me. You could come too.”

Sid wasn’t even sure how to begin processing that information, so he didn’t. “You kicked us out when Sloan was six months old. You literally had a lawyer draw up papers giving me sole custody.”

“I want to redraw the papers.”

“No,” said Sid. “Sorry, but that’s not happening. You have absolutely no clue how to raise Sloan.”

“Come on, Sidney. I don’t want us to be those parents who have to speak to each other through their lawyers.”

“Is that a threat?” Sid asked.

Ash shrugged. “I’m not afraid of you. I know you have money for a long court case, but so do I.”

Sid stared at her. She tossed her head, hair falling in waves over her bare shoulders.

“Then I’ll see you in court,” said Sid, finally. 

He opened the door to Balsam’s for her and let her walk in in front of him, schooling his face into something like a smile.

“Why do you two persist in this fantasy that the two of you are friends?” Sloan said, turning around at the counter. Balsam let out an impressed whistle.

“We are friends, sweetheart,” said Ash. She touched Sloan’s shoulder. “How would you feel if I came to your birthday party?”

“I wouldn’t like it,” said Sloan. “I only want my friends and Geno there. And Dad,” they added, “but that goes without saying.”

“No love for your mother?” Ash asked, playfully tugging on Sloan’s braid. Sid cringed.

“Should I have any?” Sloan asked. “Don’t do that. Only Dad is allowed to do that.”

Ash dropped her hand. “All right, darling. I have a present for you, though. I’ll give it to Sid before I leave.”

Sid gave Sloan the long-discarded menu. “Pick a sandwich. I’ll be right back.”

The drama of their previous conversation was undercut by Ash leading him to her car and making him wait while she dug through a crowded bonnet for Sloan’s present. 

“Is Geno your boyfriend?” she asked, emerging with an enormous box wrapped in purple paper. Whatever it was, Sid hoped it wasn’t breakable.

“Geno is our neighbor,” said Sid. Geno was a lot of things, but he definitely wasn’t Sid’s boyfriend.

“Sloan sounds very fond of him,” said Ash. “I’d like to meet him.”

Sid would do everything in his power to prevent that, mainly because he knew how Ash could be and Sloan would kill anyone who broke Geno’s heart. “They are very fond of him, yes.”

“Is Geno his real name?”

“Evgeni. Sloan couldn’t pronounce his name when they were young.” Geno was actually Sloan’s first two-syllable word, but he wasn’t about to say that to Ash. It would just complicate things.

“Cute,” said Ash. She handed the box to Sid. “Well. My lawyer will be in touch.”

Sid swallowed a sigh. “Are we really going to do this?”

“I want my baby next summer and every summer after that. If you won’t facilitate that, I’ll make it happen on my own terms.”

It was less a matter of Sid not facilitating and more a matter of Sloan never forgiving him if he made them go to Toronto for an entire summer. If the stress of it didn’t kill both of them first. He wasn’t about to risk Sloan’s well-being to avoid an uncomfortable conversation or two. “Fine.”

Ash hesitated a moment and then ducked down and kissed Sid’s cheek. “I’ll see you around.”

Sid stood on the sidewalk, massive box in hand, and watched her Beetle tear off through the square.

“Dad,” said Sloan, when he walked back into Balsam’s, “Is Ash a natural blonde?”

“Your mother did not steal that jewelry,” said Sid. He set the box on the stool next to him. “Did you choose a sandwich?”

“I want grilled cheese,” said Sloan. And then: “I know Ash wouldn’t steal jewelry. I just want to know if she’s a natural blonde.”

“She is,” said Sid wearily.

 

;;

 

Sloan’s birthday was the kind of uncontrolled chaos that made Sid glad he had only one kid and a big backyard with a fence. Children ran in circles around the yard, screaming with the feral joy that comes from knowing they outnumber adults 20 to 1. The water balloons Sid had provided were long gone and Sid had agreed to turn on the sprinkler for ten minutes after prolonged begging.

At least it wasn’t as hot as yesterday, only warm enough to remind Sid why he loved Cape Breton’s summers. He stood on the porch where he couldn’t be run down by preschoolers and felt weirdly alone.

“Hey Sid,” said Geno, stepping through the screen door that was the sole barrier between muddy children and a relatively clean house. “Why did you turn on sprinkler?”

Sid shrugged. “Sloan asked.”

Geno slid the door shut behind him. Sid was only outnumbered 10 to 1 now, which did wonders for his general stress. Well, sort of. He was still stressed. Geno wasn’t wearing a shirt, but that didn’t have anything to do with it.

Sid watched as Willow shoved Red’s head directly into a sprinkler jet and wondered if he should stop her. Red didn’t seem to be actively drowning though and soon enough he had tackled Willow into the ground.

“Their parents gonna be mad,” said Geno.

Sid shrugged again. “They’ll dry off.”

“Your garden never gonna recover,” said Geno.

That was true, but Sid wasn’t too bothered by it. He’d rather have happy wet kids than bored dry ones. “I can replant next year.” He grinned at Geno. “You can help.”

“Oh, I’m help?” said Geno, raising an eyebrow. “News to me.”

Sid looked across the yard to where Bebb and Downy were digging in his flower bed. The flowers were halfway across the yard where Horatio was sniffing at them with lazy interest. “Yeah,” he said, turning back to Geno. “You’ll help.”

“I’m charge you,” threatened Geno.

“I have no money,” said Sid.

“Liar,” said Geno, with a deadly grin. “Okay Sidney, how you gonna pay me?”

Geno was extremely shirtless, not that it mattered, and Sid was extremely aware of Geno kind of towering over him, not that that mattered either. “Uh,” he said.

“Dad!” shrieked Sloan across the yard. Sid looked over at them, which was when Geno tackled Sid, pushing him right off the porch onto the wet grass and landing half on top of him.

“I can’t breathe,” Sid wheezed as Geno dug an elbow into his ribcage.

“Oh?” said Geno and collapsed, dead weight, on Sid’s chest.

“Mr. Crosby!” yelled someone across the yard. “Are you okay?”

“Sid is lonely,” said Geno loudly. “He needs hug.”

And that was about it for Sid’s stress, when 20 kids came to hug him, sit on him, and punch him in the stomach. Geno rolled off him and stood up. “I’m get cake,” he announced. “Everybody keep Sid company.”

“Dad,” said Sloan, very close to his face where they were doing their best to crush his windpipe with their knee, “Are you really lonely?”

“Not with you, Sloan,” said Sid.

“So Geno is lying?”

“Geno doesn’t lie,” said Sid. “He just has a lot of feelings.”

Sloan looked thoughtful but didn’t ask any further questions. Instead they rolled over, accidentally kicked him in the jaw, and settled down with their head on his collarbone. Sid stared at the blue-grey sky, crushed under the weight of so many children, and thought idly that he was pretty happy with how his life turned out so far.

Geno came back five minutes later, after half the kids had wandered off back to their various aborted adventures in the yard. Many of them hung onto Sid still though, talking in the language of preschoolers, usually comprehensible but sometimes not. Sloan hummed to themself, not really paying attention to their friends, until Geno showed up on the porch, singing the birthday song with a cake in hand.

Sid struggled to his feet as the children rushed over to Geno, screaming. Geno looked pretty pleased with himself. He had put on a blue shirt. It was nice. It was a nice cake too.

“Good job,” he said to Geno, after cake had been doled out and no one’s faces had been purposefully shoved into the frosting. Geno held the last slice of cake on a paper plate, fork in hand.

“You didn’t even try it yet,” said Geno. “Here.” He cut off a corner of the cake with his fork, speared it and held it up to Sid’s mouth. Sid took a bite.

“Good,” said Sid. “This is really -- good.”

Geno grinned and took a bite of his own. He traded off feeding Sid and himself. That was also nice.

As soon as he'd finished his cake, Bebb ran up to Sid and bounced off his knees. “Presents,” he whispered, which was closer to a shout and all the kids heard.

Sid refused to let 20 muddy kids into his house to retrieve the presents their parents had thoughtfully bought and wrapped for Sloan; he made Geno get them while he corralled Sloan and their friends on the porch. He had requested books only. Sloan was particular about toys and rarely played with anything other than what he or Geno bought them. Books were always a hit and the parents of Sloan’s friends delivered, from Pete the Cat, to a pocket book Oxford English Dictionary, to _Idylls of the King_. Sloan was excited by every single one, but was particularly fascinated by a copy of The Odyssey that Willow had gotten them. “It’s translated by a woman,” they said, in awe.

“It’s good,” said Geno. “I listened to audiobook. Different translation though, and in Russian.”

“Great,” said Sid. “You can read it to them.”

Sloan looked delighted. Geno shot Sid a dirty look. Sid grinned back at him.

Parents began to pick up kids shortly after. Sid was glad that very few of them commented on the state of their kids, but it probably helped that his backyard was a wreck and his dog and his kid were also caked with mud.

“Come on, Sloan,” said Sid, taking Sloan by the hand once their last friend had been wrapped in a blanket and strapped into a carseat. “Bath time.”

Sloan took this more easily than usual, but the mud had to itch. Sid ran a bath for them and set them in it, sitting at the side of the tub to get mud out of their hair.

"Dad," asked Sloan, dipping their rubber ducky in and out of the water, "are you lonely?"

Sid concentrated on gently working dirt from their scalp. "No, Sloan, I'm not."

"Why did Geno say you were?" Sloan asked again. "Is he a liar?"

Sid brushed his fingers through Sloan's hair. How the hell had they gotten so much mud in their hair? The bath water was starting to turn gray. "Geno is not a liar. He was just teasing me."

"Why was he teasing you?"

"He likes to have fun," said Sid. 

Sloan thought about this for a long time, giving Sid a chance to get the mud out of their hair. It was almost back to its natural blonde by the time they asked, "You would tell me if you were lonely, right Dad?"

"Of course," said Sid. "I tell you everything."

"Not everything," said Sloan. "You still haven't told me what you and Geno were talking about yesterday."

"Yeah, about that," said Sid. "Let's rinse you off and Geno and I will tell you what it is."

"Are you getting married?"

"No!" said Sid, horrified. "It's much, uh, better? than that."

While Sloan was getting dressed, Sid went outside. Geno was hosing the mud off of Horatio, who was either having a stroke standing up or was completely unaware of the jet of water on his back and had possibly fallen asleep on his feet.

"I think he's alive," said Geno, sounding generally as confident as Sid ever felt about Horatio being alive at any given moment, which was weak at best. "He's standing up."

Sid walked over to Horatio and touched his head. Horatio looked up at him with soulful eyes and an expression on his face that Sid couldn't quite place. Beatific was the first word that came to mind, but Horatio was a dog, not a saint.

"You're unreal," said Sid to Horatio, scratching his ears. "But you're a good boy."

"You never tell me I'm good boy," said Geno.

Sid rolled his eyes. Geno turned the hose on him and Sid jumped out of the way to dodge it. The water Horatio square on the face. Horatio sneezed.

Sloan never reappeared from their bedroom. Sid, after wrestling the hose from Geno and spraying him in the chest, went to find them before Geno could retaliate. He found Sloan curled up on their bed in their bath robe, fast asleep. He pulled a sheet over them and left them alone.

"They're asleep," Sid said, coming back outside. Geno was lying on the porch, shirtless, and petting a drying Horatio.

"Too bad," said Geno. "I'll come over later and we can tell them about treehouse."

Sid sat down on the porch next to him. "Thank you, Geno."

"No problem. I like helping you and Sloan."

Sid wanted to say something like, "you're my best friend and I couldn't do this without you," but that seemed a little over the top, so he settled for patting Geno on the shoulder and saying, "you're the best."

"I know," said Geno.

"Vain," said Sid, punching him in the shoulder.

"You give me compliment, I'm accept compliment." Geno rolled over on his side, resting his head on Horatio's chest and blinking up at Sid. “If I say, Sid, you’re great father, best parent for Sloan, you gonna say no?”

“I could do better,” Sid protested, thinking of Ash.

“Idiot,” said Geno, cheerfully. He poked Sid in the calf, hard enough to hurt. “You’re best father for Sloan. Accept compliment.”

It came out of Sid in a jumble, his conversation with Ash, how he needed to call his lawyer, how he’d need to go to Halifax or maybe even Toronto more likely than not to sort this out, how he was anxious about this situation affect Sloan when they found out, how he knew that Canadian courts tended to award custody to mothers though he was reasonably certain he could prove that Sloan needed to stay with him full time.

Geno listened, eyes closed.

“I worry that I’m not doing enough,” said Sid. “Good enough, or well enough by Sloan.”

How had Geno’s head ended up in his lap? It didn’t matter. Sid touched Geno’s hair, smoothing his hair against his forehead.

“You do more than enough,” said Geno. “I say you’re best father for Sloan, I mean you’re best father for Sloan. Sloan couldn’t have better father.”

Sid ran a hand through Geno’s hair. “Thank you.”

Geno smiled. They stayed like that until Sloan came out of the house dressed in their dinosaur pyjamas, demanding carrot sticks.

 

;;

 

Sid’s lawyer was also the only lawyer in town. Mr. America had trained as a criminal lawyer in Quebec, but advised the inhabitants in Sweetness on their various legal troubles. He’d come from Montreal shortly after Sid moved to Sweetness. He was a nice man, kind of quiet, but passionate about law when you got him started in the pub. Sid and Sloan saw him eating ice cream by himself in the park sometimes. Sloan loved him and loved to ask him questions about criminal law, which he answered dutifully and appropriately. He had some Indian ancestry but his name was all his. When Sloan was old enough to ask questions, Sid had explained that sometimes people didn’t fit their names and changed their names to make them fit how they felt about themselves inside. This didn’t explain why a Canadian man gave himself the last name of “America” but Sloan had seemed satisfied with the idea that one could change their name if they liked.

Sid had needed Mr. America’s consultation only a handful of times before, mainly on the matters of his family’s trust and the money he’d inherited. Mr. America was trustworthy and Sid felt he’d be able to adequately defend Sid’s fatherhood in court, if it came to that.

“Sidney!” said Miss Maple cheerfully, when Sid walked into the waiting room. “Come in, come in. I’ll let Mr. America know you’re here.”

Miss Maple was about 30 years older than Sid and had the kind of smile men would fight for. She always seemed to have one for Sid and Sloan though. She was nice, like Mr. America, but louder and fond of dying her hair bright colors. It had been bright red these past couple of months.

Mr. America appeared moments later. He was wearing a sky blue three-piece suit. Sid felt incredibly under-dressed. He’d tried to put on a nice shirt and slacks, but his inquisitive five year old had immediately asked him why he was dressed nice, what did he mean he had an appointment, did that mean he was going on a date, who he was going on a date with, was he going on a date with Geno, why wasn’t he going on a date with Geno, well that’s a stupid reason, why is stupid a bad word, why does Geno have to take me to the park when he could be going on a date with you, no really Dad why is stupid a bad word, and---

“Sloan,” said Sid firmly, instead pulling on a polo that had, he realized an hour later, apple sauce stains on it, “if you keep asking questions, I won’t have time to braid your hair before Geno takes you to the playground to meet Willow and Red.”

Sloan had raced out of the room at that, which was how Sid ended up in a polo and chinos, staring at Mr. America’s pink floral bowtie and matching pocket square.

“So, Mr. Crosby,” said Mr. America easily, in his soft Quebecois accent, “You mentioned on the phone that your ex-girlfriend wants dual custody. Tell me more about this.”

Sid put a folder filled with every piece of documentation he had on Sloan’s custody and slid it to Mr. America. Mr. America pulled it toward him but didn’t open it. 

“It started six months after Sloan born,” said Sid and launched into the whole painful story.

Mr. America listened patiently, taking the occasional note on a legal pad. Sid tried not to feel intimidated. It was hard. The floral pocket square was really making him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. Mr. America was just so well put-together and Sid was only wearing a purple polo shirt. He touched his collar to make sure it was folded correctly and tried not to be embarrassed about the apple sauce stains. He had a five year old. These things had to be expected of a single father.

“Interesting,” Mr. America said, when Sid finished. “Tell me about Sloan.”

Sid could talk about his kid all day and did, explaining their personality, their quirks, their whimsies and inanities. He talked about how they needed order and explanation, how they didn’t like surprises, how they liked to solve the small mysteries that seemed to plague Sweetness. He talked about how they made friends easily with kids their own age but preferred the company of adults -- or at least those who didn’t talk down to them. He talked about their unhappiness in big cities, how even as a one year old they’d embraced Cape Breton Island as home after their miserable first months in Toronto. They thrived in the open air of Inverness and Sweetness particularly. They loved rain and snow, winter being their favorite season; they tolerated the heat with minimal complaining, especially when given the backyard and a hose to play with.

“Sweetness is perfect for them,” Sid said, a little helplessly, when he looked at the clock on Mr. America’s desk and realized he’d been talking for an hour. “They’d suffer in Toronto with Ash. Even if it was only for a few months. They wouldn’t be happy.”

Mr. America jotted down a note. “And with you?”

“They’re happier with me. Ash’s tried to make amends and I’ve tried to facilitate that but Sloan won’t forgive her. I don’t see how forcing them to spend the summer with Ash will make them forgive her. Or even like her.”

“Do you think Sloan would enjoy short trips to see their mother?” Mr. America asked.

“Maybe. If I was there with them. They’re smart but they’re so young. They perceive me leaving for any period of time as abandonment. You remember, when we were getting my grandmother’s estate figured out and I had to leave them in Sweetness with Geno for a weekend to go to Halifax? They wouldn’t speak to me for a week when I came back because they were so mad at being left behind but they refused to sleep in their own bed for a month because they were afraid I’d leave again.” Sid shifted uncomfortably at the memory. “If I made them go see Ash alone, I don’t think they would forgive me. I don’t think our relationship would recover from it.”

“Hmm,” said Mr. America. He set down his pen and adjusted his bowtie. He picked up the folder that Sid have given him and looked through it.

Sid glanced around the room. Wood bookshelves full to the brim lined the room. He counted twelve copies of _To Kill A Mockingbird_. There was a small picture of Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch in a frame on a bookshelf filled with binders labelled with some incomprehensible filing. Sid was glad Mr. America was smarter than him.

There was also an illustration of a duck on the wall -- Labrador duck, Sid thought, if he was remembering the bird from Sloan’s duck phase correctly. Jesus Christ, they had read so many duck books together.

Mr. America shut the folder. “Yes. I can prove that Sloan should stay with you.” He smiled. He had a beautiful smile. Sid really wished Sloan had let him put on a nicer shirt. “She’d have a hell of a time breaking her original custody agreement anyway. The lawyer who drew this up is incredibly talented. Was it your lawyer?”

“Hers,” said Sid. “I just signed it. I just wanted it all to be over.”

“Hmm,” said Mr. America. He tapped his fingers against the folder thoughtfully. Sid looked at him. He wasn't sure if he should be worried. Mr. America smiled. “Don't worry, Mr. Crosby,” he said. “Sloan will be fine.”

Mr. America escorted Sid out of his office so that Sid could square his account with Miss Maple. He had one last smile for Sid, held longer than the last. “You’ll be fine, Mr. Crosby,” he said.

They found chaos in the waiting room. Miss Maple was in hysterics and Sloan, at her side, was too excitable to be helping. Geno had his hands in his hair, looking harassed. “Sid,” he said, relieved.

“Dad!” said Sloan. “Guess what!”

Mr. America pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Miss Maple. “Martha, what’s wrong?”

“Mr. America,” said Miss Maple, all but collapsing with a sob on Mr. America’s shoulder, “someone has stolen my mother’s jewelry!”

Sid looked at her, then at Mr. America, then Geno. Sid thought that Miss Maple’s mother had died years ago. Geno grimaced and inclined his head at Miss Maple.

“Her car was broken into and it was stolen!” said Sloan loudly.

“You lock your car door?” said Mr. America, looking confused but patting Miss Maple’s back anyway.

“No,” said Miss Maple. She was weeping noisily into Mr. America’s handkerchief. “Of course not! I simply parked it on the street and when I went out just now to get my lunch, I found my mother’s rings gone.”

“Miss Maple,” said Geno gently. “Why do you keep your mama’s rings in your car?”

“It was supposed to be safer there!” said Miss Maple. She sobbed. Mr. America rubbed her back, brow furrowed.

It was a good while longer until Miss Maple even half-calmed down and Sloan could interrogate her to their liking. RCMP would do nothing; local police would do nothing. For all that Sweetness was a strange little village, no one seemed inclined to change it. Sid would worry about it, if he thought it was actively dangerous for Sloan. Mostly it was just weird.

“Come on, Sloan,” said Sid, when Sloan took a breath in the middle of their questions. They’d gotten all they could out of Miss Maple anyway. “Time for dinner.”

“Can Geno come?” Sloan asked, when Sloan took their hands as they left the office and stepped outside into the deep sunshine of the late afternoon.

Sid tilted his head, looking at Geno over Sloan’s head. Geno still looked a little embarrassed from Sloan having followed an upset woman into her place of employ. Sid wasn’t mad. Sloan was just like that and so far no one in town had told them to stop.

“I have chicken?” he said to Geno.

“You put seasoning on this time?” Geno asked dubiously, embarrassment gone in lieu of the opportunity to make fun of Sid.

“That was one time!” protested Sid.

Sloan giggled “Don’t worry Geno, Dad doesn’t forget to season his meat anymore.”

Sid shook his head at the look on Geno’s face, which was altogether too delighted and wicked, considering the five year old walking between them. Geno cleared his throat. “I’m come,” he said.

Sloan swung their arms, pulling Sid along. “Come on, Dad,” they said. “Geno, you can make rice.”

“Oh, I’m help?” said Geno. “Crosby family is so needy.”

Sloan punched Geno in the thigh and he tripped, exaggerated for Sloan’s benefit. “Don’t punch,” said Sid, but it was hard to put any heat in it.

Sloan was tired enough for a piggie back ride on Geno’s back halfway home -- “because he’s taller than you, Dad!” -- but not so tired that they didn’t try to leap off of Geno’s back in a mess of flailing, shrieking limbs when they saw Ash sitting on the front porch, petting a sleeping Horatio. Geno caught them just before they fell to the ground.

“Hello, darling,” said Ash.

“No, no, no, no!” shouted Sloan. “Go away!”

Sid blew out a long breath and said, “Sloan, that’s rude,” he said.

“I don’t want her here and I don’t want to see her,” shouted Sloan. They were already in tears. Sid could see them working themself into an incredible tantrum that was two parts over-stimulation and exhaustion, and one part Ash.

“Ash, what are you doing here?” Sid asked, as politely as he could manage.

“Can’t I stop by to see my baby?”

“Again,” said Sid, “Sloan doesn’t like surprises.” Next to him, Sloan had turned away from Ash and buried their face against Geno’s pant leg. Geno rubbed their head.

“Oh,” said Ash, undeterred. “Well, I’m here now. Would you like to go for a walk Soan? Me, you, and your father?”

Sid looked over at Geno, but Geno was too busy with Soan climbing up his leg to look offended. In fact, he picked up Sloan, setting them against his hip and whispering to them soothingly in Russian. Sloan shoved their head against Geno’s shoulder. Sid wasn’t sure they understood, but at least they weren’t screaming anymore.

“You must be Geno,” said Ash. She put out her hand. “I’m Ash, Sloan’s mother.”

“Hi,” said Geno, hefting Sloan higher on his hip and shaking Ash’s hand with his free hand. “Happy to meet you.”

“Oh, are you Russian?” said Ash, interested.

“Yes,” said Geno. “But I live here now.”

“With Sid and Sloan?” Ash looked curious. Sid glanced at Geno, but Geno’s face was as blandly friendly as he’d ever seen it.

“I’m neighbor,” said Geno. He let go of Ash’s hand and rubbed Sloan’s back. “Help take care of Sloan sometimes.”

“He’s my friend,” said Sloan with a muffled wail.

“Geno, could you take Sloan inside and get them some water?” Sid asked. Geno nodded and walked around him and Ash. He stepped over Horatio on the porch and let himself inside the house, arm tight around Sloan.

“Ash, you really need to call first,” said Sid, when the door shut behind Geno and Sloan. He was beginning to get a headache. “You can see how much it upsets Sloan.”

“I thought they’d be happy to see me,” said Ash. “I thought it would be good for them to see my face.”

Sid stared at her. She stared back, defiant.

Sid counted to eight in his head before responding. “I have tried my best to facilitate reunions,” said Sid. “I have given them your presents. I have never said that you broke our hearts. The least, the absolute least you can do is call me instead of showing up unexpectedly and startling them. They’re just a little kid. You have to know that.”

“What’s wrong, Sid?” said Ash. She sounded concerned. Sid knew that tone of voice too, and it make his heart heavy; it was her authentic voice, her genuine concern, her patience with him. For a moment he wondered if it would really be so bad to spend summers with her in Toronto. Maybe she still loved him.

Horatio lifted his head and barked once, very loudly. The shock of hearing Horatio bark brought Sid back to reality, the reality where Ash’s patience, though strong, had limits. She gave up on both of them once, he reminded himself. She would probably give up on them again.

Horatio barked again and he took a step back from Ash. Ash flinched and they book looked at the dog.

Horatio stared at them, unblinking. It was the most focused Sid had ever seen him.

“He hasn’t barked since Sloan was born,” said Sid, a little dumbfounded.

“I guess that’s my cue,” said Ash softly.

“Okay,” said Sid.

“I’ll call next time,” said Ash.

“Thank you,” said Sid. “I’ll see what I can do. My lawyer will be in touch.”

“Really, Sidney?” she said.

“You started it,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and patted his cheek. “I’ll call,” she said.

He watched her walk down the street, waiting until she had rounded the bend and was out of sight. When she was gone, he rubbed his eyes. She didn’t love him anymore, he reminded himself.

“Get it together, Sidney,” he said out loud. On his way back into the house, he stopped to scratch Horatio’s head. Horatio had fallen asleep again.

 

;;

 

The days passed as quickly as they ever did in the summer. In between playdates, treehouse building, and the general fussy minutiae that made up Sid and Sloan’s lives, Sid spent a considerable amount of time in Mr. America’s office, having paperwork explained to him. Sloan asked him if he was a tax evader and that’s why he spent so much time talking to Mr. America. “It’s not good to break the law,” they said.

“It’s a grown-up thing,” said Sid, which was condescending enough that Sloan immediately started arguing about the age of what should be considered adulthood. They argued 6. Sid argued 25, the age he’d been when Sloan had been born. It was a good distraction, even when Geno stopped by to steal Sid’s barbecue seasoning and casually dropped the knowledge that the age of consent in Canada was 17. This set off an entirely new argument, mainly because Sid then had to explain consent to sex to his child and Sloan didn’t understand quite exactly how a person could have sex without being in love, but it was better than saying “your mother and I are having a custody battle over you.”

And anyway, they’d had the sex talk when Sloan had just turned four and wanted to know how ducks laid eggs. Nothing could be worse than having to explain male duck genitalia.

One evening, Mr. America called Sid on his cellphone, which Sid used so infrequently that he nearly missed the call trying the unbury the phone from underneath a pile of discarded picture books.

“Mr. Crosby, I hope I’m not interrupting you,” said Mr. America, “but this couldn’t wait.”

Sid went back to the stove where he was warming up some alfredo sauce. He couldn’t make it from scratch as well as Geno so he didn’t bother; it was from a jar. “No, it’s fine. What’s, uh, what’s going on?”

“I have just received an email from Ms. Mountain’s lawyers,” said Mr. America. “They’d like to see you in Halifax.”

“Oh,” said Sid. He stared blankly at his pan of alfredo sauce. He stirred it mechanically with a wooden spoon he had previously been wondering if Sloan had used to dye t-shirts. It didn’t seem to matter so much now.

“Unfortunately, they’d like to interview you. I’ll have to confirm dates and times, but they’d like to see you within the next two weeks.”

“Just me?” said Sid.

“Yes.”

“But not--”

“Not Sloan, no.”

“Thank God,” said Sid. He glanced at the dining room to see if Sloan was listening, but Sloan was busy humming along to They Might Be Giants’ “Birdhouse In Your Soul” and painting a map of where all the recent burglaries had taken place in Sweetness. If they were listening, they didn’t find what Sid was saying particularly interesting.

“It will be an overnight trip,” said Mr. America. “Even if we were able to get to Halifax in the morning before they interview you, it will likely take all day. The firm she hired is notorious for wasting time to intimidate fathers.”

“I’m not,” said Sid. “I mean--I’m not.”

“I know,” said Mr. America. “I’ll brief you later. I assume Sloan is in the room, or you would be more forthcoming.”

“Yes.”

“I can make time for you tomorrow, if you are available,” said Mr. America. “I know it is short notice.” And then he sighed, a rare admission of negative emotion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crosby. I know you were hoping for a quick conclusion. It’s rarely simple, but I didn’t think they’d drag you down to Halifax.”

“It’s fine,” said Sid. “As long as--”

“I will defend you in court to keep Sloan, if necessary,” said Mr. America.

“Thank you,” said Sid. “I guess I’ll be paying?”

“Yes, though I’ll comp you meals.” Mr. America sounded like he was smiling.

“Oh, thanks,” said Sid. He started stirring the alfredo sauce again. Mr. America didn’t sound worried so Sid decided not to worry either.

“Take Mr. America on a date!” said Sloan, popping up at Sid’s side. Sid nearly dropped his phone. “Sloan!”

Mr. America was laughing, thank God. “I’ll have Miss Maple call tomorrow morning when I know what my schedule is.”

“Date!” shouted Sloan.

“Thank you, Mr. America, see you tomorrow, goodbye,” said Sid.

“Bye Mr. America!” said Sloan happily. Mr. America was still laughing when he hung up.

“Sloan,” said Sid, tossing his cell phone on the counter. “What have I told you about eavesdropping? On me? Or anyone else?”

“That it’s rude and I shouldn’t do it,” said Sloan. “But the music ended and I was bored. Why were you talking to Mr. America so late? You sounded so grateful. Is he doing something nice for you? Are you paying for a date with him? Didn’t you say that on the first date, the person who initiated the date should pay and if there is a second date, everything should be split equally?”

Sid looked down at his child. They were such a pain in the ass. He loved them so much. “I was talking to Mr. America about some family business. He is working on something for me. I did say that the person who initiates the date should pay for the first date and then they should split unless they, uh, don’t want to. Did I miss a question?”

“Are you paying him for a date?” said Sloan, impatient, and then they jabbed Sid hard in the thigh. Sid passed down the spoon to them so they could taste the sauce.

“I’m paying him for a service,” said Sid. “It is neither good nor bad.”

“Oh,” said Sloan. They had alfredo sauce on their chin. “I guess that’s okay too. I think you should go on a date with him.”

“That would be unethical,” said Sid. 

“Why?”

“I don’t date people I am paying for a professional service.”

“Oh,” said Sloan again. They nodded to themself, as if they understood Sid’s desire to live an ethical life. Sid kind of doubted they understood the implications of living ethically, but maybe they did. They understood the importance of recycling plastic bottles, anyway.

“Okay,” said Sloan. “I’m hungry. Is the food ready yet?”

Sid breathed a small sigh of relief. “Almost. Go put away your paint.”

Ash called Sid late that night on his cellphone after Sloan was asleep, a call that he almost missed again because he was reading on the couch and forgot where he’d put his cellphone.

“Hi,” said Sid. He was a little flustered, having dropped several of Sloan’s paintings to the ground in his effort to find his cellphone.

“You sound flustered,” said Ash.

“I’m fine,” said Sid. “Why did you call? Do you want to meet Sloan?”

“Yes,” said Ash. “I was hoping you could bring Sloan to Halifax.”

“Uh, no,” said Sid. “Sorry, no.”

He opened the front door and stepped outside. It was warm enough that it was okay he wasn’t wearing shoes. Across the street, Geno’s living room light was still on.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve done a great job of keeping our whole...thing...from them and I’m not dragging them down to Halifax so I can traumatize them with the knowledge that their parents are having a custody battle over them, in addition to making them go to a big city to meet you.”

“Halifax isn’t big,” said Ash. She sounded a little mad. “You said you’d facilitate if I called first.”

“Yeah, I meant meeting them here.” Sid could see Geno walking through his living room. He looked extremely tall, but that might have been because he was only wearing gym shorts.

“You don’t think they’d appreciate a change of pace.”

“Absolutely not,” said Sid.

Ash sighed. “Fine. When can I come up to see them?”

“Before I go to Halifax.” After would be disastrous. Sloan was already going to be mad at him; he didn’t want to make it worse by having their mother come up.

“Why haven’t you told them? About us?”

Because they’d never forgive me if they thought I would let them go, he wanted to say. Because they’d never forgive me if they thought I needed a break from them or was giving up on them. He wouldn’t survive if his child stopped loving him with all their tiny peculiar heart. Nothing was worth that.

But that was cruel to Ash and Sid didn’t like being cruel. He understood what Ash wanted and he sort of understood why. Just because he was selfish with his love didn’t mean he had to hurt her.

He focused on Geno moving around his living room through his window, picking up a coffee mug and a book. Geno didn’t notice Sid standing outside his porch at 10pm and gazing in the middle distance at Geno’s house like a weirdo, which was probably for the best.

“Because they’re very sensitive,” he said finally.

“Okay,” said Ash. “How about Wednesday? I know the date for your interview hasn’t been set yet but it won’t be for another week at least.”

It was Sunday. That was reasonable; Sid figured that was enough time to get Sloan used to the idea of seeing Ash.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Meet us at Balsam’s? Around noon? You can eat lunch together.” Sloan liked Balsam; he was reasonable sure they wouldn’t throw food or break dishes. At least they wouldn’t have low blood sugar like last time.

“Perfect,” said Ash. “I look forward to seeing Sloan. And you.”

Geno waved at Sid through his window. Sid waved back, trying to look like it was normal for him to be standing on his porch late at night, having a conversation with his ex-girlfriend.

“I can’t promise that Sloan will talk to you,” said Sid. “But I’ll try.”

“I just want to see them,” said Ash.

They hung up shortly after. Sid sat down on his porch steps. Geno walked across the street in sliders. He was still only wearing gym shorts. The chain around his neck glinted in the moonlight.

“What are you doing?” Geno asked.

“Talking to Ash,” said Sid.

“Everything okay?”

“Not really.”

“Want to talk?”

“No. Sorry. Thank you, but no.”

Geno sat down next to Sid. He bumped his shoulder against Sid with a small smile.

Sid was exhausted, suddenly. He leaned against Geno and Geno held him up, strong as ever.

“It’s okay,” said Geno. “You ever want to talk, I’m here.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence long enough that Sid became so sleepy that he began to wonder if Geno would carry him inside to bed. The thought was mortifying enough that he made himself sit up. “I need to go to bed,” he said. “You probably do too.”

Geno shrugged, his arm barely brushing Sid’s. “Is fine. Happy to sit out here if you want.”

“No, I need to--I need to go to bed.”

Geno stood up and then held out his hands to pull Sid up. Sid took them and stood up. It was nice to hold someone’s hands, for however briefly. He needed to feel taken care of, just for a little.

Geno smiled at him. “Good night, Sid.”

Sid smiled back. “Night, Geno.”

 

;;

 

Sloan did not take news of Ash coming to meet them particularly gracefully--the 2 hour tantrum frankly had Sid wondering if it was worth it--but by Wednesday they had consented to milkshakes, but only milkshakes, and then they would stay only as long as it took them to drink a milkshake, and then they were going home even if you’re staying Dad, and also they would only go if Geno came also and Geno wasn’t allowed to stay if Sloan left because of the rule about walking in the street without a grown-up but Dad can stay because he probably had things to talk about with Ash but they weren’t on a date because that would be a betrayal to everyone.

Sid was positive Geno had more important things to do than follow his child around but after he had lost the argument that morning for the third day in a row that Geno could not do everything Sloan and Sid asked all the time, he was shamelessness enough to ask.

“He’s your best friend!” said Sloan, stomping their foot.

“Go get dressed,” said Sid, tired, and he walked across the street. Geno was working on his car and all Sid could see of him was his long legs in oil-stained jeans. Really, there was nothing Geno couldn’t do. It was weird.

“Hey, uh, Geno?” he said. “Can I talk to you?”

Geno rolled out from under the car. Sid immediately lost his train of thought; Geno had oil smeared across his cheek and his hair was messy from the heat of the driveway.

“Always,” said Geno.

Sid stared at him, at a loss for words. Geno smirked and waited.

“Dad!” yelled Sloan. Sid turned around. Sloan was standing on the porch, their hands on their hips. They were wearing their favorite duck shirt, the one they saved for special occasions. It didn’t mean they were dressing up for Ash, Sid knew. It meant they were worried.

“Sloan wants to know if you’ll come to drink milkshakes with them while they meet with Ash today,” Sid said. He tapped his fingers against his thigh, a little on edge now.

Geno sat up immediately, bring his feet under him so he didn’t fall off the board. “Of course I’m come,” said Geno. “When?”

“Uh, an hour,” said Sid. “Thank you. I know it’s short notice. They’ve been asking all week but I know you have better things--”

“Nothing better to do than spending time with Sloan,” said Geno. “I’m shower and meet you in an hour. We’re walking together?”

“Yeah, yes. Thank you--”

“Should ask me sooner,” said Geno. He stood up. “Sloan ever need anything, I’ll do it. You ever need anything, I’ll do it.”

He smiled at Sid, but Sid thought it was kind of tight. Sid had remind himself that Geno was a grown man who made his own decisions and if he wanted to help Sloan and Sid in extremely awkward situations, than that was his choice.

Geno waved at Sloan across the street. Sloan waved back. Sid bit back a sigh. 

Geno clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. Sid blinked. “Don’t worry,” Geno said. “It will be fine.”

“Right,” said Sid, trying to focus on the conversation at hand and not on Geno touching him. He wished he weren’t so easily distracted when he was with Geno. He had more important things to worry about. “Of course, yeah. I better, uh. I’ll see you later.”

Geno let go of him. Sid went back across the street and swung Sloan up on his hip. “Geno says he’ll come,” he told them.

Sloan wrapped their arms around his neck. “I knew he would,” they said. “He always comes when we need him.”

It was true and it made Sid slightly uncomfortable to think of it but, he reminded himself again, as much as it was Sid’s choice to keep asking him to help, it was Geno’s choice to keep helping him. He was a grown man. They both were. If Geno ever needed help with something, Sid would be there to help. Well, Geno never seemed to need help, but if he did, Sid had his back.

It got him wondering what Geno did for a living and how he learned to cook, fix cars, build shit, and babysit so well, so he was almost glad to have to deal with the distraction of Sloan alternately sulking and refusing to let Sid out of their sight. Geno was mystery upon cagey mystery and Sid would probably wonder what his deal was for the rest of their hopefully long friendship.

Sloan took Geno’s hand when they stepped off the porch and onto the street, which Sid assumed was because Geno wasn’t the monster making them see their mother. Which was fair enough, Sid had to admit so he led the way to Balsam’s without feeling too bad about it.

It was chaos when he pushed open the door to Balsam’s and stepped aside to let Sloan in. Miss Maple and Mrs. Dogwood were arguing with their local police officer. Balsam was sitting at the counter, head in his hands. Mr. America was patting his shoulder with one hand, holding a milkshake in the other.

Sloan brightened instantly and ran over to Mr. America. “What’s going on?” they demanded.

“Someone stole Mr. Poplar’s late husband’s watch,” said Mr. America.

“What?” said Sloan. “But Mr. Poplar, you never take off your husband’s watch.”

“He spilled hot coffee on his wrist and took the watch off so he could treat his burns.”

“This is ridiculous!” shouted Mrs. Dogwood, who was loud as a general rule but positively bellowing at the police officer, Bristlecone, in the restaurant. “How can you stand by and watch this happen? Will we all have to be robbed before you get off your a--”

Sloan looked like they were having the best day of their young life as they watched Mrs. Dogwood and Miss Maple tear into Bristlecone. Geno went over to Balsam and put an arm around him. He and Mr. America bent their heads to listen to something Balsam said.

The phone in Sid’s pocket vibrated. Sid took it out and couldn’t stop himself from sighing when he saw it was Ash. He tugged on Sloan’s braid to get their attention. “I’ll be right back,” he said. They weren’t listening, too enrapt by the spectacle of Mrs. Dogwood and Miss Maple swearing up a storm at Bristlecone for not taking better care of their town.

Sid stepped outside. “Hey Ash,” he said.

“Hey Sid,” she said. “I’m really sorry but I’m not going to make it up today. My car broke down an hour outside of Cape Breton and the tow-truck only just got me and the car back to town.”

Sid frowned. “Really?”

“Why would I make that up? I love my car. Can we reschedule?”

Sid wanted to throw his phone in the street. “Not before I come to Halifax.”

“You sure you can’t bring Sloan down?”

“Yes,” said Sid. “Positive.”

“I know you’re not intentionally keeping them from me,” said Ash. “But would it really upset them that much?”

“They had a two-hour tantrum when I said that you wanted to see them.” It felt mean to say it, but he was tired of this situation and mad enough not to care what he said.

“Oh,” said Ash. “Well.”

“Yeah,” said Sid.

“I’m glad they wanted to see me, in the end.”

Sid wasn’t sure if it was wanting to see their mother more than it was wanting to please their dad or even just capitulating so they could get a milkshake on a weekday afternoon but saying that crossed a line of cruelty he wasn’t comfortable with. “I’ll tell them you’re not coming. We’ll see how the rest of the summer goes.”

“Sidney--”

“Ash.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Ash. “Why is our child like this? Why are you like this?”

“Ask yourself that,” snapped Sid, glancing into the restaurant’s window. He could hear Mrs. Dogwood yelling even though the door was closed.

“Fine,” said Ash. “I’ll see you in Halifax.”

“Bye,” said Sid and hung up.

“Ash isn’t coming,” said Sid to Sloan and watched as Sloan went through relief, joy, suspicion, and then joy again. Sid didn’t have a chance to worry about it because Sloan yelled, “ASH IS THE THIEF.”

Sid was going to have to go on a very, very long solo run after this. “Sloan, Ash is not a thief.”

Mrs. Dogwood and Miss Maple turned as one. “Who is Ash?” Mrs. Dogwood demanded.

“His ex-girlfriend and the mother of his child,” said Balsam, raising his head. He turned around. His eyes were red. Mr. America rubbed his back.

“She is not my mother,” said Sloan. “All she did was give birth to me.”

“Sloan, Ash did not steal anything.”

“No, it makes sense,” said Sloan. “Mrs. Dogwood’s jewelry got stolen the same day Ash came to town to meet me at Balsam’s. Miss Maple’s mother’s jewelry got stolen the same day Ash surprised me at our house. And Ash didn’t come to get milkshakes today because she was already here, stealing Mr. Poplar’s husband’s watch.”

“You brought a thief into our town?” demanded Mrs. Dogwood.

“She’s not a thief!” said Sid. “Ash is a lot of things, but she’s not a thief.”

Balsam turned back around, head in hands. Geno tightened his arm around him and spoke to him softly, Mr. America leaning in to listen.

Bristlecone looked bored with the entire situation. “Well, if Crosby says so,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry ladies, Balsam, there’s nothing I can do. There’s no evidence of anything.”

“No evidence?” shrieked Mrs. Dogwood. “You son of a--”

“What about the blond hair?” Sloan demanded. “Mrs. Dogwood found blond hair when her jewelry got stolen. Ash is blond.”

“Half the people in this town are blond,” said Bristlecone. “Doesn’t prove anything.”

“She doesn’t live here!” said Sloan. “It makes sense!”

“I want to talk to your supervisor,” said Miss Maple.

“He’s down in Cape Breton this week,” said Bristlecone. “But I’ll give you his card if you come with me to my office.”

“No, I want to speak with him today,” said Miss Maple. “He’s got a cell phone, doesn’t he?”

“All right, all right,” said Bristlecone. “Come with me.”

Bristlecone held open the door for Miss Maple and Mrs. Dogwood. They stomped out. He waved goodbye at the rest of them. Mr. America shook his head at him.

“Useless piece of--” they heard Mrs. Dogwood yell as the door swung shut.

Sid was going to have to do so much damage control. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked the room at large.

“You really believe your ex-girlfriend wouldn’t steal things?” said Balsam, turning back around.

“No,” said Sloan. “She’s a thief.”

“Sloan. Stop.” Sid took a deep breath and let it out carefully. “Yes, Balsam, I really believe Ash did not steal anything. I know her. I know her really well. She wouldn’t do this. She’s not--she wouldn’t do this. I promise.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Sloan, frowning.

“I do,” said Balsam. He sighed. “You’re a good man, Crosby. I trust you.”

“If you feel up to it, we should go file a police report,” said Mr. America gently. “I doubt Miss Maple and Mrs. Dogwood are done with Bristlewood, but you should get the robbery on paper.”

“Yeah,” said Balsam. “Uh, give me a minute. Let me go clean up.” He disappeared into the kitchen, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Mr. America sipped his milkshake, looking thoughtful. “It really is curious,” he said. “So many thefts in the past month.”

“Is big problem,” said Geno. He tapped his fingers against the countertop. “I have to make phone call, excuse me.” He stood up and left the restaurant.

“Can we go to the police office?” asked Sloan, tugging on Sid’s sleeve.

“No, we’re going home,” said Sid. “Come on. See you, Mr. America.”

“Bye Mr. America!” said Sloan cheerfully, taking Sid’s hand. This was easily the best day of their young life, Sid was pretty sure.

Outside, Geno was arguing on the phone with someone. “No, no,” he said. “You tell me. No, I will not go to--hi Sid, hi Sloan--no, you come here. My car is broken.”

Sloan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to watch Geno. Sid sighed.

“Your store full of junk,” said Geno. “I have no time to fix my car. Need to know now. You can leave, come here, tell me.”

“Tell you what?” demanded Sloan.

“Sloan, we have to go,” said Sid.

“Is this about Ash being a thief?” Sloan asked.

“Sloan--”

“Wait,” said Geno to whoever he was talking to. He looked down at Sloan, then up at Sid. “I can prove Ash is not a thief.”

“You can’t, because she is a thief,” said Sloan.

“How?” asked Sid, because this was not an argument he was going to win with Sloan, possibly ever, if he didn’t put it to bed as soon as possible.

“I know a man,” said Geno. He gestured at his phone. “Can I borrow your car?”

“I want to go too,” said Slona immediately. “Dad? I’m going. You can come too.”

“Is it child safe?” asked Sid.

“It is with me,” said Geno. He turned back to his phone. “Okay, I’m coming. And bringing child, so put away...not child-safe things.”

Sloan’s mouth was open, eyes wide. They looked delighted. Sid was beginning to wonder how well he knew Geno. Not very well, he figured. He always knew that there were large parts of Geno’s life and past he didn’t know and Geno wasn’t forthcoming about most of it. But accompanying Geno and Sloan to a place where Geno had to warn someone that he was bringing a child? That was a little beyond what Sid had ever expected out of Geno.

“Are you a criminal?” said Sloan, in awe, when Geno hung up.

“No,” said Geno. “I’m good guy. Come.”

He picked up Sloan and swung them onto his back. Sloan shrieked and wrapped their arms around his neck. “This is the best day ever,” they said, shoving their face between Geno’s shoulder blades with a happy sigh. The three of them started walking home.

“Sloan, Mr. Poplar is really upset,” said Sid. “That’s not a good thing.”

“I know,” Sloan said, lifting their head. “But Mrs. Dogwood was so mad!”

“Still. It’s not good to be happy when other people have lost things that are important to them.”

“Okay,” said Sloan, but that didn’t wipe the smile off their face.

The walk home was quicker than normal -- Geno seemed to be in a hurry. When they got to Sid’s house, he set Sloan on the ground and held out his hand. “I need keys,” he said to Sid.

“You are not driving,” said Sid.

“I don’t want to get lost. Is important we get there quickly.”

Sid handed him the keys and took Sloan inside for a bathroom break and to grab some snacks. When they came back outside, Geno was on the phone again. “Yes, we come,” he said. “Don’t leave. Don’t run. I’ll find you. I know where you hide.”

“You are a criminal,” said Sloan, joyful.

“No,” said Geno. “I promise, I’m not criminal.”

He was looking at Sid when he said that though. Sid squinted. Geno gave him a lopsided smile and looked down at Sloan. “Come on, Sloan,” he said. “Let’s go.”

 

;;

 

The drive was not quick and Sid was glad he brought snacks for Sloan. They had a lot of questions that all seemed to end in suppositions on Geno’s various former careers as a criminal, Russian spy, RCMP double agent, heir to a great fortune, hockey player, and other histories of questionable repute. Sid finally gave them a tangerine to peel to shut them up and Geno glanced at him, looking relieved. Sid smiled at him a little, but he was wondering too. Not that he thought Geno was a Russian spy or even a retired hockey player, but he was curious. It wasn’t really his business, though; Geno had had plenty of opportunities to talk to Sid about what he did for a living and he hadn’t yet, so Sid figured he probably never would.

They drove into a small village somewhere near the sea; Sid didn’t recognize the town. He had no idea where they were. Geno parked near the harbor. Sloan had fallen asleep but jerked upright when they felt the car park. “We’re here?” they demanded from their carseat.

“Yes,” said Geno. “We’re here.”

When Sid got Sloan out of the car, the three of them stood for a second staring out at the ocean, stretching their legs.

“We’re still in Cape Breton, right?” Sloan asked, taking Sid’s hand.

“Yes,” said Geno. “This is Sullivan. Come, have to meet someone. You’ll like him.”

Geno led them down the boardwalk and down to the harbor docks. 

“You’re not taking my kid down there without a life jacket,” Sid told him.

“Dad!”

Geno said, “don’t worry, is low tide.”

Sid glared at him. “Still not taking my kid down there.”

Geno shrugged. “Okay, Sid.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “NEALER,” he yelled. “COME OUT, LAZY.”

A tall man climbed out of a houseboat. He gave Geno the middle finger as he walked up the dock.

“I HAVE CHILD,” yelled Geno. “BE NICE.”

“I DON’T CARE,” Nealer yelled back.

Nealer was very tall and very toothless. Sid looked at Sloan to gauge their reaction. They gazed up at Nealer adoringly, as if they had never seen anyone better. He swallowed a sigh.

“Hi Lazy,” said Geno cheerfully. “You miss me?”

“No,” snapped Nealer. “Why would I? You’re always causing me trouble. What do you want?”

“I have question. Well, Sloan has question.”

“Who the hell is Sloan?”

“I’m Sloan,” said Sloan, holding out their hand. Nealer took it, looking confused. They shook hands. “Who are you?”

“Nealer. Was that your question?” Nealer asked.

“No, I want to know, is my mother a thief?”

“What the f--”

“Okay!” said Sid. “Sloan! Remember how we practiced asking more specific questions and providing context to get answers? Start with the facts and then ask your question.”

Sloan rattled off a whole host of facts about the robberies: the blond hair, the missing jewelry and watch, the mysterious re-appearances of Ash. To his credit, Nealer listened closely, if still confused by the small five year old explaining how their mother was a thief.

“No, no,” he said. “I haven’t had anyone blonde come to me with stolen jewelry.”

“You’re a criminal too,” whispered Sloan.

“I’m not criminal, Sloan,” said Geno.

“I am,” said Nealer. “What did the watch look like?”

“Leather wristband, sapphire crystal face,” said Geno. “Maybe gold inscription, I could never tell.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Nealer. “I remember that.”

Sloan gasped. Sid stared at Nealer. There was really no coming back from this.

“Who brought it to you?” asked Sloan.

“Old lady,” said Nealer. “Like, really, really old. Blue hair. She was financing her bets at the racetrack.”

“What racetrack?” said Geno. “There’s no racetrack in Sullivan.”

“Underground corgi racing,” said Nealer.

“Corgi racing?” said Geno with a frown.

“What the hell,” said Sid. They were being put upon, surely.

Sloan gasped again. “Dad, no swearing.”

“You really want us to believe there’s underground corgi racing in Cape Breton? Corgi?” Sid said.

“Oh, yeah,” said Nealer. He looked positively delighted to have gotten a reaction out of Sid. “I heard RCMP is going to bust them soon, so if you’re looking for a dog, I can hook you up.”

“Dad--”

“No,” said Sid. “Horatio is enough for us.”

 

“Horatio?” said Nealer, looking at Geno. “Is that a code name?”

“That’s their dog,” said Geno.

“Oh,” said Nealer. “I thought you’d finally got back into--”

“Okay Lazy,” Geno interrupted. “Do you still have stolen things?”

“Sold most of the jewelry but I still have the rings and the watch,” said Nealer. “I’ll sell them to you at a cost.”

“I’m not pay you anything,” said Geno. “Show me things.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” said Nealer. “Come to my shop and we’ll talk.” He turned around and walked down the dock again.

“Can we go?” Sloan asked.

“Not without a life jacket,” said Sid. “Geno, we’ll, uh. We’ll wait. You can do--whatever it is you want to do?”

Geno grinned at him. “I’m always do what I want.” He followed Nealer down the dock.

“Get Mr. Poplar’s husband’s watch back!” called Sloan. Geno waved at them.

Sid led them over to a bench by the dock and sat Sloan down. “Eat,” he said, handing them another tangerine.

“Dad,” they said, taking the tangerine but not peeling it, “what does Geno do?”

“I don’t know,” said Sid.

“But if you found out, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” said Sid, which was maybe the first time he’d ever outright lied to his kid. He wasn’t too broken up about it; if Geno really did have a difficult history, Sid wasn’t going to be the one to tell Sloan. That was on Geno.

Sloan peeled their tangerine and gave the peels to Sid. “Dad, do you love me?”

“Yes,” said Sid. “I love you more than anything and anyone. Why do you ask?”

“You just seem tired of me today,” said Sloan.

“I’ll never be tired of you,” said Sid. “We’re just having a long day. If it seems like I’m tired of you, it’s because I’m tired of this entire situation.”

“What, the robberies?”

“Yeah,” said Sid, thinking of Ash and his impending trip to Halifax next week. “Yeah, the robberies.”

“I love you too,” said Sloan. “Do you want a tangerine slice?”

They ate their tangerines and then some crackers and then some cookies. The sun was low in the sky and Sloan had just started counting seagulls at Sid’s prompting when Geno and Nealer walked out of Nealer’s houseboat.

“Do you have everything?” said Sloan, leaping off the bench and almost tripping.

“Yes,” said Geno, pulling the rings and watch out of his pocket. 

“Mr. Poplar and Miss Maple are going to be so happy,” said Sloan.

“Lazy is happy too,” said Geno, satisfied.

“Actually, I hate you,” said Nealer. “Do you have any other questions for me or are you going to leave me in peace?”

“Yeah, one question,” said Sid. “Where’s the nearest ice cream shop?”

The three of them drank their milkshakes on the bench, watching the sun go down. It was a beautiful sunset, Sid thought, glancing over at Geno. Geno smiled at him. He put an arm across the back of the bench, reaching around Sloan to flick Sid in the shoulder. Sid smiled back.

“Today was a good day,” said Sloan, sagging a little again Sid when they finished their milkshake.

“Yes,” said Geno. “Was interesting.”

“That’s not the same as good,” Sloan informed him.

“It is for me,” said Geno. “Come on, Sloan, time to go home. I’ll race you to car.”

Sloan shoved their empty cup at Sid and jumped off the bench.

“Thanks,” said Sid, rolling his eyes.

“You’re welcome,” said Sloan. “Come on, Geno!”

Geno got up, towering over both Sid and Sloan. He grinned at them and then handed Sid his empty cup too. 

Sloan took off running down the boardwalk, Geno at a leisurely jog behind them. Sid threw their empty cups in the trash can across the street and then followed them down the boardwalk.

He glancing one more time at the sun setting on the horizon. Sloan was shrieking with laughter; Geno had picked them up under his arm and was running with them. 

His life could be a lot worse, he figured, watching Geno and Sloan.

 

;;

 

Sid had to go meet Mr. America the next day to make arrangements for going to Halifax the next week. He had enlisted Geno to take Sloan to the park at the same time, so he wasn’t too surprised to walk out of another meeting to the sight of Miss Maple bursting into tears as Sloan held up the rings to her.

“Where did you find them?” she asked. Mr. America pulled out his handkerchief, a purple gingham square, and handed it to her.

“Nealer!” said Sloan happily.

“Nealer?” said Mr. America. He looked over at Sid and Geno. “Isn’t he that fence down in Sullivan?”

“Ah,” said Sid. “Uh.”

“Yes,” said Geno. “But he’s good man. Well, not good man, but trustworthy.”

“How can you be trustworthy and not a good man?” Sloan asked.

Sid did not want to have this conversation in front of Miss Maple and Mr. America because it was guaranteed to be a long one. “We’ll talk about it later, Sloan. We’re glad we got your rings back,” he said to Miss Maple.

“We’re going to return Mr. Poplar’s husband’s watch next!” said Sloan. “Come on, Dad.”

Mr. America passed Geno his business card. “Just in case you need it,” he said quietly. Geno took it with a nod and tucked it into his pocket.

Miss Maple insisted on kissing Sloan’s cheek, then Sid’s cheek, then Geno’s. She really couldn’t stop crying, even as she slipped the rings back on her fingers.

“Do I have any upcoming appointments?” Mr. America asked Miss Maple.

“No,” she said. “Not for the rest of the day.” She blew her nose into his handkerchief. “Why?”

“Why don’t we go to Balsam’s with them? I could use a cup of coffee.”

They walked to Balsam’s, Sloan practically skipping. When they entered the building, Balsam raised a hand at them. He looked glum. “Hey,” he said.

“Here,” said Geno, passing the watch to Sloan. Sloan ran up to him. “Mr. Poplar, look!”

Balsam was stunned into silence. He took the watch from Sloan and held it up to the light.

“It’s your husband’s!” said Sloan. “We found it. Geno knows a fence in Sullivan and he got it from him. An old lady was financing her gambling addiction. Dad, what’s a fence?”

“Uh--”

Balsam shook his head, overcome.

“She was betting on corgis,” Sloan added.

“What on earth,” said Miss Maple. “Corgis?”

“Yeah,” said Sid. “It’s a weird one.”

“Really, if you ever need me,” said Mr. America to Geno. “Just give me a call.”

Balsam put his husband’s watch on. “Thank you,” he said. “I never thought I’d wear this again.”

“But now you have it,” said Sloan cheerfully. “Hey, Dad, can I have ice cream?”

“You know what? Sure.” It’s not like Sid could be a worse father this week anyway.

“On the house,” said Balsam. He looked a little weepy as he went into the kitchen to get ice cream.

Sloan and Sid settled down at a table. Geno went to talk to Mr. America while he waited for his coffee. Miss Maple bent over to kiss Sloan’s head again, her red hair swinging in Sloan’s face. Sloan laughed. 

“I’m so happy, Sloan,” she said to Sloan. “Thank you. You too, Sidney. Thank you so much.”

“Geno did all the work,” said Sid.

“I helped,” said Sloan. “I asked Nealer all the questions. Didn’t I, Dad?”

Sid tugged on their braid. “Yes, Sloan, you did. You were a huge help.”

Miss Maple sat down at the table. “I don’t want to know anything about this Nealer character,” she said. “If he’s a fence, he’s probably unsavory. But did he say anything about the person who brought our things to him?”

“He said it was a little old lady with blue hair,” said Sloan. “He didn’t give us a name.”

“Nealer gave me name,” said Geno, swinging down into a chair next to Sid. “I’m give it to Mr. America and he’ll give it to RCMP.”

“Will Nealer get in trouble?” asked Sloan.

“No,” said Geno. “Lazy is safe.”

“Oh good. I like him.”

Miss Maple looked puzzled. Balsam set a cup of coffee in front of her and a huge ice cream sundae in front of Sloan.

“Thank you,” Balsam said again. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“You’re welcome,” said Sloan. “Thank you for the sundae.”

“You earned it, little one,” said Balsam. He handed three spoons to Sid. “Eat up and if you want dinner, let me know.”

Miss Maple and Mr. America stayed long enough to drink their coffee before heading back to their office.

“I’ll see you next week,” said Sid to Mr. America. In the excitement of the afternoon, he’d almost forgotten they were going to Halifax so he could get beat up by a bunch of lawyers.

“It will be fine, Mr. Crosby,” said Mr. America. “Sloan, Geno. Have a nice evening.”

“Bye Mr. America! Bye Miss Maple,” said Sloan.

Geno waved at them. They left the building.

“Can we stay for dinner?” Sloan asked. “What did Mr. America mean when he said it would be fine?”

“Yes, we can stay for dinner,” said Sid. “Food first, then we’ll talk about Mr. America.”

Geno looked at him, eyebrows raised. Sid shrugged, smiling weakly. He couldn’t avoid the topic of going to Halifax forever. Geno shook his head and elbowed Sid intentionally as he leaned over to get another bite of Sloan’s sundae.

Sid waved down Balsam for a menu.

 

;;

 

Halifax was awful.

He’d dealt with enough lawyers in his time to get a sense of how they operated -- still, he’d never met ones that actively seemed to want him to flounder and fail like Ash’s. If it hadn’t been for Mr. America’s steadying presence at his side, Sid would have left about a dozen times during the interview. They questioned him just to be mean, it felt like; he could have handled questions about the difficulty of single parenting, sure, but to be asked about whether his sexuality got in the way of his ability to be a good parent, well. At least Mr. America had snapped over that one and threatened them with a lawsuit.

Mr. America took them to a bar by their hotel immediately after the interview and bought them both drinks. “I’m sorry, Mr. Crosby. That was needlessly cruel.”

“It’s uh,” said Sid. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” said Mr. America. “I expected them to try to get under your skin, but not ask you untoward questions about your sexuality or Sloan’s gender.”

They sipped their whiskey. Their flight didn’t leave for another three hours and though they still needed to go pick up their luggage at the hotel, it felt necessary to stop and drink something strong.

“Thank you,” said Sid. “I--okay, I know I’m paying you to help me, but this was really--I could not have done this with anyone else.”

“I’m happy to assist you,” said Mr. America. “You’re a good man, Mr. Crosby, and a good father.”

“Thank you,” said Sid again. He usually didn’t doubt his ability to be a parent, but after that six hour marathon interview, he needed to hear it.

They finished their drinks in silence. Sid stared at the ice in his glass until Mr. America touched his arm. “Let’s go home, Mr. Crosby,” he said. “Your child is waiting.”

“Yeah,” said Sid. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Mr. America was staying in Cape Breton overnight to finish up some business, which meant that Sid had to drive up to Sweetness alone. He’d done it before, but he’d never had to sit alone thinking about his various failures as a single parent either.

It was dark when he drove up to his house, but the light were still on. It was uncommonly hot too. He grabbed his bag out of the trunk and walked inside. When he came through the front door, he found Geno sitting on the couch with Sloan, reading the Odyssey with them. Sloan was slumped against his chest, enthusiastically correcting his pronunciation of "Aeolus".

"You're both wrong," Sid said. The scene made his chest ache, for some reason. Whatever it was, it was good to be home.

Sloan twisted around in Geno's lap and then immediately attempted to climb over him. "Dad! You're home!"

"How do you pronounce it?" Geno demanded, turning around to give Sloan a hand. Sloan leapt off his shoulder and into Sid's arms. "Is not easy, Sid."

“Ee-oh-lus,” said Sid. He kissed Sloan’s forehead. “Hi.”

“Aeolus,” muttered Geno.

“I missed you,” said Sloan. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

“I had to meet with some lawyers, I told you,” said Sid. “It was about Ash, but we’ll be all right.”

“Oh,” said Sloan. They sighed and then started wiggling to be put down. Sid set them down and they went over to Horatio and lay on top of him in front of the empty fireplace. Horatio didn’t so much as acknowledge them.

Geno got up. “Good night, Sloan,” he said. Sloan turned their head and looked at him. “Good night, Geno,” they said, looking grumpy.

Sid could see the bedtime/Dad-leaving tantrum coming like a thunderstorm rolling in. He walked Geno out to the porch.

“Okay, Sid?” Geno asked, touching his arm.

“Yeah,” said Sid. “Thank you so much for taking care of Sloan. I owe you.”

“What I’m for,” said Geno. “Come talk to me later?”

Sid owed him that much, at least. He nodded and went back inside.

Sloan was making a valiant effort to stay awake while lying on top of Horatio. “Bedtime, Sloan,” said Sid. “Come on.”

“I’m not tired,” said Sloan, screwing up their face, and that was about it for Sid having a calm, low-stress end to his day.

Two hours later, Sloan had sobbed themselves into a deep sleep sitting Sid’s lap on their bed. Sid lay them down on the bed and pulled the covers over them. He kissed their forehead; they didn’t even stir.

He went to his room and changed out of his suit into shorts and a t-shirt.

“Watch Sloan for me,” he told Horatio on his way out of the door. Horatio snuffled at him and got up. Sid watched, amazed, as Horatio shuffled through the hall and laid down in front of Sloan’s bedroom door. He didn’t think that would actually work.

When Sid walked outside, he found Geno sitting on the steps of his porch, reading the Odyssey to himself in the weak porchlight. Sid crossed the street. He was so tired.

“You’re going to wreck your eyes,” said Sid, sitting down next to him.

“Hi Sid,” said Geno, setting the book aside.

“Hi,” said Sid.

“How was it?”

“Fucking sucked,” said Sid.

“Wow,” said Geno. “Tell me.”

Sid went through as much of the interview as he could remember. The questions about his ability to be a single parent, his sexuality, his decision to respect Sloan’s gender, his relationship with Ash, with his parents, with his friends.

“They even asked about you,” he said. “They wanted to know who you were and what you meant to me.”

“Oh?” said Geno. “What is it I mean to you?”

“You’re my best friend,” said Sid, tired and heart-sick enough to be honest. “And I couldn’t do this without you.”

Geno smiled and it made Sid’s breath catch. He tried to smile back but he was so tired.

Geno bumped his shoulder against Sid’s. Sid sighed and leaned against him. Geno put an arm around him.

“I don’t have family in Canada,” he said. “My family is back in Russia. Have few Russian friends in Canada but I’m not see them often.”

“Yeah?” said Sid.

“Yeah,” said Geno. “Russia will always be my home, but I have home in Canada too. Friends in Canada. I’m not alone.”

“Of course not,” said Sid. “You have me and--”

“I have family too, maybe,” Geno said. “You and Sloan. I’m not have family in Canada but I have you two. You two are my family. If you let me be family.”

“Geno,” said Sid, a little helplessly. “I mean it, I couldn’t--I can’t do this without you. Of course you’re part of our family. Did you ever think you weren’t?”

“I’m not sure,” said Geno. “I’m think, well, maybe we’re just neighbors because Sid never wants to ask for help except when Sloan makes him.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you,” said Sid. “You’re my best friend, but--”

“We’re family,” said Geno. “You’re not take advantage of me, you’re rely on me. I’m rely on you too.”

For what, Sid wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel like he had a lot to offer Geno except friendship, a cute kid, and some weirdly charged conversations.

“Okay,” said Sid finally. “Okay, Geno, I’ll ask for help more often.”

“Even with things you need,” said Geno. “Not just Sloan, but you.”

“Yeah,” said Sid. “I will.”

“What do you need?” Geno asked.

Sid thought it over. “Stay the night with us,” he said. “Not like that! I mean. Sloan was really upset with me when they went to bed. I think they’d appreciate seeing you when they wake up.”

“Is that what you need?” Geno pressed.

“Yeah,” said Sid, honestly. He was so tired. “Yeah, I want to see you when I wake up.”

Geno smiled at him and it almost broke Sid’s heart. God, he really needed to go to bed before he did something embarrassing like cry from exhaustion.

Geno followed him home. Sid showed him to the guest room and went to Sloan’s bedroom. Horatio was still outside their room, snoring. He opened the door and stepped over Horatio.

“Dad,” mumbled Sloan, when Sid brushed a hand over their head.

“Yeah, baby?” he said.

“Where’d you go?” they asked.

“I had to talk to Geno,” said Sid.

“Oh,” said Sloan. They rolled over to face the wall. “Okay.”

Sid went back to his bedroom, took off his shorts and shirt, and crawled under the covers.

Sid woke up the next morning with Sloan on his chest. He had no memory of Sloan climbing into bed with him but he’d been so tired he might not have noticed a meteor crashing outside his house. He rubbed Sloan’s back and stared out the window. Blue skies. It was going to be warm again. He and Geno could work on Sloan’s treehouse.

Sloan stirred. “Dad?” they asked.

“I’m here,” Sid said.

Sloan buried their face against Sid’s chest and mumbled something.

“What’s that?” Sid asked.

“I’m glad Mr. Poplar got his husband’s watch back. He seemed really upset.” Sloan yawned.

“You want to tell me what you really said?” Sid asked.

Sloan pushed their face against Sid’s chest for a long moment before looking up at him. “Is it okay if I sleep in here with you?”

“Of course, Sloan.”

“Even when I’m older?”

“Yes.”

“Even when I’m a grown up?”

“Yes.”

“Even if Geno is here?”

“Even--what? You mean when Geno is in the guestroom, right? Not in here. Yes, you can sleep with me even if Geno is here. Because he would be in the guest room.”

Sloan giggled. Sid would commit murder to hear his child giggle.

Someone knocked on the door. “Sid?” Geno asked. “I can’t find Sloan.”

Sloan leapt off the bed and yanked open the door. “Geno!” they shouted. “You’re here.”

“Yes, I’m here,” said Geno. “You want waffles?”

Sloan shoved past his legs and into hall, shouting for Horatio.

“You knew exactly where Sloan was,” said Sid, sitting up and stretching.

“Yes,” said Geno. He looked at Sid, at Sid’s bare chest, and smirked. “But maybe I’m want to see you.”

Sid scrunched up his nose. He was not awake enough to figure out Geno’s angle.

Geno winked and went back to the kitchen. “Sloan?” he called. “Do you want blueberries? Sid, wake up, I have coffee.”

Sid got up. He was still waiting to hear from Mr. America and Ash’s lawyers, but it was hard to dwell on that while his child and Geno were arguing about chocolate chips versus blueberries.

He put on a t-shirt and walked into the kitchen. Geno handed him a cup of coffee without breaking his argument Sloan.

They would be fine, Sid thought and sipped his coffee with a small smile.


End file.
